


Got Me Singing the Wingman Blues

by misura



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Bar Room Brawl, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-29 00:45:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6352147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House grimaced. "People simply have no respect anymore these days."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got Me Singing the Wingman Blues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coricomile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/gifts).



> an extremely late tagyourfic treat
> 
> (according to my notes, I should apologize for not setting this during a zombie apocalypse. so uh, hey. sorry that this isn't set during a zombie apocalypse?)

"You call that hitting someone?" House asked, and Wilson decided that enough was enough; drinks had been drunk, words and blows had been exchanged, and now it was time to settle down and behave like civilized human beings again, or as close as House was able to come nowadays.

"House," he said. "Enough. Let it go."

House shrugged at a guy who had, by a conservative estimate, about a hundred pounds on him - most of it _not_ muscle, by Wilson's estimate. "Sorry about the girlfriend. Bit of a nag. You want my advice, just stick with being a bachelor. No fuss, no muss."

"Your girlfriend looks like a guy," said a guy who had maybe twenty pounds on him, if that.

"Some keen observers in the house tonight, I see," House said. "Well, we're not homophobic around here, are we? Because if you are - well, then, whoa boy, did you get a lot of gay cooties all over you."

 

"You do know there's no such thing as 'gay cooties', right?" Wilson asked, later. "Or any sort of cooties, for that matter."

"Why, thank you for that medical update, Dr Wilson." House grinned at him, his right hand still holding an ice pack pressed to the right side of his face. "Although for the record, I don't think they were overly concerned about the possibility that I might be contagious anyway. Guess I'll go with 'now what would your mother say if she heard you hit a cripple?' again next time. That one's always a hit."

"To any particular body part, or just in general?"

House grimaced. "People simply have no respect anymore these days."

"I think it probably helps that you tend to use your cane as a weapon."

"You mess with the bull, you get the horns." House shrugged. "So hey, any booze around this place? And when I say 'booze', I mean 'alcoholic beverages', and when I say 'alcoholic beverages', I mean the good stuff you don't tell _all_ your dates about."

"Given that you just took on three guys twice your size, I think you've had enough."

"You're not naked," House pointed out. "Ergo, at least one of us isn't yet sufficiently drunk to call this evening a 'success'. I mean, I may be just another notch in the bed post to you, but that doesn't mean it's going to be easy."

"Is anything involving you ever easy?" Wilson asked. "I mean, isn't there a rule against that or something? A divine commandment, possibly?"

House glared at him. The ice pack spoilt the effect a little - inasfar as prolonged exposure to House had not already been enough to render Wilson mostly immune to his shows of temper.

"I got punched defending your dubious honor. At the least - at the _very_ least, that should get me to second base."

"I'm sorry, it's been a while since I was a teenager. Second base is what, exactly?"

House sighed and put down the ice pack on the table. " 'Jimmy, you big stud. Take me to bed or lose me forever.' "

" _Top Gun._ " Well, Wilson supposed it fit the theme of the evening somewhat. "Really?"

"It's a classic," House said. "You can never go wrong with the classics."


End file.
